Page 51 of The Blessing

I give her an uneasy smile, looking around in hopes that my girlfriend would choose this moment to show up. “I’m good, actually. I’m just taking my son to look at the toys while my girlfriend shops.” I’ve got a girlfriend, so fuck off, is what my tone is screaming, but apparently that’s not obvious to this chick.

“Well, your girlfriend shouldn’t leave a guy like you alone for too long.”

“Yeah,” I say, curtly. “Well, it was nice talking to you,” I lie before continuing down the aisle of the toy section.

“We’ll be right here, baby!” one of her bolder friends yells in my direction. Is this how women feel when they get cat called? Fuck, that must be terrible.

I shake the unpleasant thoughts those women caused my mind to conjure up and focus on Grey—who starts kicking in my arms as soon as he sees the toys. I take a moment to enjoy the Star Wars action figures and Lego sets. I wonder if it’d be considered way too geeky for me to buy a Millennium Falcon Lego set for myself? The sensible part of me knows having a bunch of Lego pieces lying around wouldn’t be safe for a baby, and I’d rather be safe than sorry. Honestly, that’s the only thing that’s holding me back from indulging. I can’t wait until he’s older and can build these sorts of things with me. Sighing, I move on to the toys I know are deemed safe for his age.

We pass a line of different rattles and bathroom toys, until we reach a mountain of stuffed animals. Grey lets out a squeal as soon as he sees a Winnie-the-Pooh bear that’s bigger than he is. He reaches for it and strings together a bunch of syllables. It must be his way of say, “Give me, daddy! Give me!”

I pull the toy from the shelf and hold onto it, since it’s too big for my son to wrap his arms around. I select a couple more bath toys from the shelf before heading to the children’s book section. There’s some board books I remember from my childhood and a few more mature titles I know he’ll love as well. I pick a copy of The Giving Tree, one of my favorites as a boy despite how depressing it is, and then I choose several Dr. Seuss titles. Grey eyes the large green book in my left hand and points, as if to ask, “What’s that, daddy?”

“This was one of your daddy’s favorite books when he was a kid.” It was one of Dean’s favorite books, as well. Our father would read this one to us all of the time.

Grey pulls on the corner of the book’s cover, trying his best to open it. He’s so curious and I know, from his behavior, he wants me to read to him. I place the toys I was holding in my left arm on the shelf and open the book with my right hand while positioning Grey so he can see the pages from his spot in my arms. The book’s illustrations captivate his attention, but as soon as I begin to read the Shel Silverstein classic, his eyes are on me.

Grey gives me a gummy smile, showing me his two small teeth, and wiggles in my right arm. I point to the artwork of the little boy with a crown of leaves as I read and Grey giggles, kicking his legs like he usually does when he’s excited about something.

I hear the sound of someone approaching and I stop reading the story. I gaze up, expecting to find Ronnie, but instead I notice a woman who I’ve never seen before. She’s beautiful with chestnut brown hair and green eyes. She has a lovely face, with a few wrinkles that suggests she’s in her late forties. She seems familiar, but I can’t exactly put my finger on why.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she quickly apologizes. “I just heard you reading the story and got distracted,” she admits with a girlish laugh.

She takes a step closer, but I don’t move back. The woman gazes down at Grey and her attractive face looks troubled suddenly.

“Is something wrong?”

She shakes her head and doesn’t look at me. “No, it’s nothing. How old is he?”

“He’ll be a year old in January.”

She nods and continues to stare at my son. Before I can question her about what she’s doing, she speaks again. “He just reminds me a bit of my son when he was a baby. He looked a lot like your son—in a way.” She smiles at the memory. “A full head of hair and big, bright eyes. The book you’re reading… I used to read that to my son all of the time when he was a newborn. It was his absolute favorite, as well as mine.”

Ronnie comes down the aisle with a pile of clothing in her cart. She gives the woman next to us a kind smile and introduces herself. The woman suddenly looks embarrassed and backs away from us. She apologizes, before stepping back over to her cart and walking away.

Ronnie looks as confused as I feel. “Who was that woman?” she asks as she helps me place our toys and books in the cart.

I’m baffled. Although she seems familiar, I can’t—for the life of me—place her. “I’ve no idea.”